


Two husbands and their raccoon

by HotCat37



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Caring Ian Gallagher, Caring Mickey Milkovich, Domestic Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, I wanted to write something happy for a change like damn, M/M, Sick Character, Sickfic y'all, Takes place in the same universe as Better Now because Apollo is here, raccoons - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:28:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24372043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HotCat37/pseuds/HotCat37
Summary: In which both Ian and Mickey are sick at different times and take C A R E of each other. The raccoon takes care of them, too
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 6
Kudos: 115





	Two husbands and their raccoon

**Author's Note:**

> I've been a bit sick lately (not with corona lol) so naturally I had to make the husbands suffer along
> 
> Also vomit warning?? I'm pretty sure there's a phobia for that, so although it's not graphic and very brief, if you're sensitive to that you might wanna skip the second part of this fic

"Look who's finally up." Lip's comment makes Mickey's head perk up, spotting Ian as the ginger groggily steps through the doorway.

"Ay, Gallagher. What's with you lookin' like a zombie?" Mickey smirks at his tired-looking husband.

Ian grumbles something in response, scuffling past the brunette and heading into the kitchen. Mickey barely processes Lip leaving the room. Fucker probably thinks they're about to make out or something. Which was admittedly, Mickey's original plan, until he really takes in the state of Ian.

His red hair flops over one eye, almost completely covering it. His skin looks impossibly paler than usual and Mickey notices how the taller man keeps swallowing every now and then.

"Rough night?" Mickey casually brings up, trying his best not to let the worry seep into his voice.

He puts a few hard-boiled eggs in Apollo's bowl, because apparently raccoons like that shit. Apollo scratches at the skinny metal bars of his dog bench, a thing Carl bought a few weeks ago. It's part of their agreement on keeping Apollo. Carl can play with him and feed him, but has to help pay for the shit Apollo needs.

Mickey opens the door to let Apollo out. The chubby fuck bolts straight for the bowl, making grotesque noises as he starts tearing the eggs apart.

Ian watches Apollo eat his breakfast with half-lidded eyes, he has to blink multiple times to keep his eyes open. At least his reflexes still work, considering Ian still jumps back when Apollo suddenly glances back at him.

Ian mutters something with a shake of his head.

"What'd ya say, mumbles?" Mickey prompts, walking over to his husband.

The ginger lets out a soft sigh, sounding defeated and the slightest bit frustrated.

"I don't......I don't feel so......" Ian interrupts his sentence with another heavy exhale. It looks like it takes a lot of effort for him to speak.

Mickey frowns at the answer. 

Ian's not doing so hot, clutching at the kitchen counter with one hand and limply holding a banana in his other. He feels like he might throw up, but it's stuck in his throat. Talking is exhausting, but most of all, Ian's incredibly aggravated by the jolts of pain he feels in seemingly random places. His upper arms, his knees, his wrists, his entire fucking face........

Ian doesn't know how the fuck he got sick, but it fucking sucks already....... Sadly, he thinks about how he's taken all the times he wasn't sick for granted. It's only day one but it feels like Ian's been sick for a week.

"Hey, are you okay?" Mickey steps forwards, slowly taking the piece of fruit out of Ian's hand and placing it behind him on the counter.

He puts a gentle hand on Ian's neck, slightly tip-toeing because even with Ian's slumped form, it's sorta hard to reach his head properly. He nuzzles Ian's temple with his nose, in that shockingly affectionate and soft way of his. Everything about the small gesture just screams _Mickey._

Ian vaguely registers that Mickey did the same thing a few years ago, when he'd went to see Ian after the ginger had taken away Yevgeny.

"Shit, man, you're burnin' up......." Mickey mutters with furrowed eyebrows. Ian only just realizes that Mickey's moved his hand to his forehead.

"My body hurts......." Ian sighs in the back of his throat, wrapping loose arms around Mickey's waist.

"Well, I ain't no nurse, EMT Gallagher, but you gotta get back to bed." Mickey steps out of Ian's embrace and wraps an arm around the younger man's side, making sure Ian won't fall over.

"Work......." Ian slurs the word as he walks with Mickey through the living room on wobbly legs.

"Nah, I'm gonna call 'em to say you're sick. Don't wanna pass out on the job, right?" Mickey quite frankly, doesn't give a flying fuck about Ian's job, but he knows how stubborn Ian is about showing up to work, even when he's feeling like shit.

Ian's shoulders slump in defeat but he lets himself be lowered down onto their shared bed.

Mickey feels Ian's body trembling underneath his hands, so he grabs an extra blanket and puts it over his husband.

"Thanks....." Ian croaks out, feeling thirsty despite the lump in his throat.

"I'll get ya some water. Don't go anywhere." Mickey leans down and presses a kiss to Ian's clammy forehead, grinning at the way the other pouts.

"W-where else would I go, Mick? Christ......" Ian violently shivers again, wrapping the blanket tighter around his body.

Mickey returns with a cool glass of water just a few seconds later. Although Ian tries swallowing the water down, his throat just seems to close up so he ends up spitting it out instead, coughing.

"Fuck, Ian......" Mickey scratches the back of his neck for a moment. What now? Ian apparently isn't really able to get any liquids down, but he still needs to stay hydrated somehow.

Mickey thinks about the handful of times his siblings have been sick, and what they did to get better. Well, shit, his brother never really showed whether they were sick or not, fucking morons. Mickey only remembers having a fever a few times and throwing up. Mandy...shit when did Mandy ever get sick?

Mickey's gaze softens when Ian looks up at him with sad, pleading eyes. God, he looks helpless. And kinda cute, but that's beside the point.

"Oh wait, I've got an idea. Be right back." Ian huffs and watches the blue-eyed man leave for the second time.

And Mickey probably hasn't been looking on where Apollo's hanging out, too busy fussing over Ian's sick ass, because the raccoon is suddenly standing in Ian's doorway, just staring.

"Get outta here......." Ian groans at the animal.

Apollo shows no visible reaction to Ian's request. He keeps standing and staring until he finally moves.

Unfortunately, not away but into Ian's fucking room.

"Hey, n-no go back downstairs......." Ian makes a weak shooing motion with his trembling hand.

Apollo pays him no mind, still strutting towards Ian's bed as if he owns the fucking place. Arrogant little shit, is what he is. Ian hopes the raccoon doesn't get his paws on one of the chargers.

"Get oooofff......." Ian quietly protests when Apollo hops onto the bed. Apollo hisses in return, making himself comfortable on top of Ian's blanket-covered legs.

"You evil fuck......" Ian stirs at the weight on his legs but makes no further attempt to remove Apollo.

A minute later, Mickey is back. He watches the ordeal before him with raised eyebrows, clearly surprised.

"Well don't you two look fuckin' cozy....." Mickey scratches Apollo behind his ears, setting down a small container on the bed.

"You tryna' steal my husband, Apollo?" Mickey starts cooing over the dirty raccoon again, as if Ian isn't ill and dying next to him.

"Mickey....." Ian puffs out.

"Oh, right. I got ice cubes." Mickey holds up the container.

"What the hell f-for?" Ian stutters out before swallowing again when the lump becomes too vivid.

"You can suck on these. Keeps ya hydrated" Mickey takes an ice cube from the small container and presses it to Ian's chapped lips.

That seems to do the trick. No choking this time. Ian actually feels slightly better. He still feels like the humanized version of the word death, though.

"I should call your work, man. Let 'em know you're sick." Mickey prepares to leave but Ian catches his wrist just in time.

"Stay?" Ian's previous concerns about work get completely abandoned as he pulls his blanket down a bit, hoping Mickey would lie down beside him.

"Don't you want me to chase Apollo away first?" A soft smile pulls at Mickey's lips, knowing damn well he'd lie down with Ian without any fuss. 

"Eh, whatever. H-he can stay, as long as he doesn't eat the chargers......" Ian shrugs dismissively as he sends the sleeping raccoon a half-hearted glare.

"Alright, I'll lie down in a sec, aight?" Mickey takes his sweet-ass time closing the door, then makes a whole show out of putting the glass of water from before on Ian's nightstand next to his meds.

Then, he _finally_ lies the fuck down.

Ian lets out a quiet cheer that turns into a whine when Mickey pries Ian's arms away from his torso.

"The hell?" Ian blurts out.

"I'm big-spoonin' ya." Mickey announces simply, _gently_ man-handling Ian so his back is against Mickey's chest.

Apollo lets out a little growl at all the movement, Ian flips the raccoon off while Mickey growls out a _"Shut up"._

And so they sleep. Two husbands and their mean raccoon.

When Mickey is sick, it's not even funny. He's had a pretty _alright_ day, security work isn't too bad when you don't have a corrupt PO. He tackled some shoplifters and chased off a couple teenagers climbing on shop decorations.

Pretty good day, right?

And he does feel good, when he gets home. No problem there. Sure, the Gallaghers are noisy as always, God curse their soul, but he's managing. He's not _sick,_ after all. Ian got sick two weeks ago and Franny last week. Something that doesn't bother Mickey 'cause he hasn't been infected. Not at all. So when he's sitting at the diner table, eating away at Carl's under-cooked burgers with too much ketchup on them.

He's fine, really.

Until he's not. Until Mickey suddenly feels like definite shit and starts feeling hot all over. Until his mind starts racing for no particular reason and he's suddenly shoving his chair backwards and dashing for the bathroom.

He tries to cancel out the noise downstairs as he hunches over the toilet. He doesn't have to puke yet, but he's prepared just in case. Maybe if he thinks happy thoughts he'll relax. As stupid as it sounds, it used to work back when he was a kid. Trying to concentrate on something other than the fact that you're about to puke your organs out usually helps.

He thinks about Apollo, digging his nails into Carl's arm to get a bite of his burger. That shit was funny.

He thinks about Ian, how much he loves the shithead and about the night before. Doesn't let himself get carried away by thinking about the reason his thighs are covered in hickeys.

He's _sick_ right now, not horny, goddamn it.

He thinks about-

Ah fuck, no, too late. The volcano feeling in Mickey's throat explodes as he spits out the remains of what used to be his lunch and parts of his diner.

Ian comes home, and Mickey is apparently fucking sick. Debbie informs him that he's ran off to the bathroom, looking pale as a ghost. Concerned, Ian finds his way to the bathroom just in time to see Mickey puke out his food.

He puts a hand under his nose, feeling sick himself at the disgusting smell. It's a mix between that typical vomit smell, ketchup and.....something Ian can't identify at all. Maybe letting Carl cook wasn't such a good idea, after all.

"Mick?" Ian speaks up. Mickey barely registers his words, just falls back against the toilet, breathing heavily and shaky.

"Imghonnafucknkilmeself......." Mickey mutters in one long, drawn out mess of a sentence.

"What'd ya say?" Ian glances back at his husband's slumped form as he grabs a wet washing cloth.

"I'm gonna fuckin' _kill_ myself......." Mickey repeats, a little louder but still in that small, weak voice.

"It would be preferred if you didn't." Ian teasingly says, before kneeling down in front of the smaller man.

Mickey lets out a defeated sigh, feeling like complete ass. Ian knows what it feels like, so he takes pity on his poor husband and starts wiping away the weird-colored vomit from around his mouth.

"Smells like death....." Ian comments, more to himself than to anyone else.

"Thanks for bein' so fucking understanding, Gallagher......." Mickey rolls his eyes in a pathetic attempt to come across as tough.

"You're welcome, Gallagher." Ian replies without missing a beat.

Mickey groans and puffs out a shaky breath again. Ian pushes back his now sweaty black hair. Damn. Even after puking out every meal of the day Mickey still manages to look beautiful. Ian wonders how he does it.

"You're so beautiful......" Ian whispers, knowing it'll get a rise out of Mickey.

"Fuck, _no,_ don't say that shit after I've just vomited. You are _disgusting."_ Mickey growls, weakly swatting at Ian's chest.

 _"You're_ the one who just puked, asshole." Ian ruffles Mickey's hair affectionately. Mickey sighs and lets him.

"Are you gonna do it again?" Ian's asks more gently this time, rubbing a hand up and down Mickey's arm.

"I dunno.....prolly." Mickey slurs slightly, pathetic and helpless. Ian kisses his forehead, and as if on cue to ruin the tender moment, Apollo comes waltzing into the bathroom.

Ian's starting to see a pattern.

"Mind yo business, Apollo......" Ian looks back at the raccoon and nods for him to walk out.

To no one's surprise, Apollo merely hisses at Ian and stalks towards his sick owner.

"Hey, lill buddy......" Mickey pets at Apollo's soft, chubby face.

The animal nuzzles his nose again Mickey's cheek, seemingly unbothered by the awful smell. As much as Ian _still_ doesn't like raccoons, the sight of Mickey cuddling with Apollo is _cute_ to the point he wants to take a big-ass picture and frame it. And hang it above his bed.

"Oh, fuck....." Mickey suddenly gags again and leans towards the toilet.

Ian's there to support him, rubbing at Mickey's back in soothing circles while his husband spits out what appears to be orange juice. Apollo helps too, kind of. He's sitting on Mickey's shoulder and staring into the toilet bowl with his head hung so low Ian for a moment fears he might fall in.

"I hate my motherfucking life......" Mickey silently whispers once his breathing's evened out.

"Nah, you don't......" Ian presses his cheek into Mickey's back, hugging him from behind.

And so they sit there. Two husbands and their raccoon who nearly falls into the toilet.


End file.
